The Things Unsaid
by redtrouble
Summary: Trahearne and the ranger Rhowaan share a moment after the battle and Zott's untimely death.


**Author's Note:** Found this buried in my fanfiction folder from ages ago and thought I'd post it. Enjoy!

* * *

 **I.**

Victory. They had won. The realization was so strong, it was a taste in her mouth. With her heart pounding, hope surged upward through her core and burst out of her in a shout. Others joined her, screaming in rattled relief and desperate joy, throwing fists in the air still tightly clutching weapons. The shores of Orr were theirs! And they screamed for it, covered in blood and filth.

A different kind of shriek pierced the chorus of victory and Rhowaan turned to see Elli's once-chipper face fall in horror. Everything seemed to suddenly move in slow motion, thick with invisible molasses that forced one to take in each second of horror. Elli was kicking sand, racing passed her, to something she couldn't see. Rhowaan whirled around in just enough time to see the light leave Zott's eyes as he fell to his knees, head lolling on his shoulders. An arrow protruded from his spine at the nape of his neck. Elli collapsed at his side, caught him before he hit the grime, and pulled him to her breast.

Elli wailed, rocking his limp body back and forth as the men around her unknowingly continued their cheers. Rhowaan alone stood gaping at the asurans huddled tragically on the beach. Zott had died instantly. There was no time for goodbyes or things unsaid. There was a moment and it had passed, like so much in this world. A flickering flame snuffed out. Those unspoken kindnesses, confessions never made, love kept locked within.

Zhaitan had taken much from them. What would be left when he was destroyed? Empty beds and cold castles? Razed farmlands and dead herds? Broken spirits and lonely survivors.

As those on the beach rushed the fleeing Orrians, chasing them back into their diseased kingdom, Rhowaan's knees hit the sand. She had watched Tybalt sacrifice himself. She had allowed Tonn to return to the bomb alone, seen the anguish in his wife's eyes as she forever marked Rhowaan a murderer. There was little more that her spirit could take at the sight of such grief. But Elli and Zott? She had been rooting for them—two intellectuals of the highest caliber, polar opposites, and so clearly in love with one another to everyone but them. She had been hopeful for them, for their love. She had wanted to see them through this war, this darkness, toward life and hope, toward an asuran wedding and a bright future.

Rhowaan dug her fingers in the sand, feeling her heart breaking within her chest. Elli hadn't even gotten to say goodbye… She would never have another chance to say what she really felt.

"But we won…" she whispered, voice cracking. They had won! They had won the beach! Why? Why did that final, futile arrow have to be shot? Why did it have to find a mark? Why did it have to be Zott? THEY HAD WON THE BEACH!

Would she see this war through to its end?

Rhowaan tried to swallow the lump forming in her throat, tried to take a breath but her lungs wouldn't inflate. So many unspoken feelings. No guarantees. They had won the beach…but Elli still tasted the pain of loss. Rhowaan lifted her eyes and stared through blurred vision as Elli sobbed, hugging Zott close. Would she survive this war?

Rhowaan heard his footsteps thrumming in her eardrums, pounding sand from far away. He was running. She could hear his steady breaths—in and out, in and out—as he ran closer. She looked across the beach and saw him appear over the incline. He looked at her. Would she survive this war?

Would he?

 **II.**

Trahearne had heard of their victory the moment he hit the beach. Minimal casualties, the lieutenant had explained. His heart throbbed anxiously as he waited to hear the fate of the one person he had come to depend on more than any of the others, who had seen him through to his position as Marshal and given him the strength to forge the Pact, who was essential in the mission to stop Zhaitan and cleanse Orr—to hear the fate of someone he had come to care for in a way most unnatural.

"Commander Rhowaan was fearless," the lieutenant went on. "Not only did she save the ship from sinking and secure our entry into the harbor, but she led Zott to the wrecked _Windfall_ and rescued as many crew as they could. We stormed the beach at her command and won the day."

"Where is she?" Trahearne asked. It was the only question he wanted answered. The lieutenant pointed up a sandy incline. He was moving before he could even thank the soldier or compliment him on their victory. He needed to see her for himself, to know that she was all right.

"Zott," someone whispered.

"No…"

"I can't believe it—"

"—a stray arrow—"

"—killed on impact—"

"—tragic, was so young—"

"—and that girl he left behind, Elli—"

Trahearne tuned the rest out. He didn't need to hear anymore to know what had happened. He had known the young asurans. He had known their secret feelings. The tragedy was heartbreaking, terrifying, and it hurried him along the siege line until he was running up the last incline.

He saw her, knelt in the sand with her long, red hair flying away from her face, curls knotted by the breeze. She turned to look at him as soon as he crested the dune, as though she felt him coming. She was pale, her eyes watery, her lower lip quivering. He stopped dead in his tracks. She looked as fragile as glass about to break. The way she looked at him—the way those aquatic eyes begged him. She wanted him to take her away, to hold her together, to keep the Pact from seeing her fall apart.

Their Commander could not afford to fall apart. Not now. Not until Orr had been cleansed, Zhaitan slain, and Tyria free of this corruption. Then, on a small island or a lonely desert or on a slope of the Shiverpeaks…only then, when all the world had been saved, could she break.

Trahearne started slowly toward her, his eyes locked with hers, and, before he knew it, he was rushing to meet her. She rose to her feet and closed the distance between them. In a moment that happened so fast he didn't even realize it, he was holding her. He had never held her before. Not like this. Not with these feelings. Not with his heart thrumming wildly in his chest. Not with her pressed desperately against him. He was holding her, his arms wrapped tightly around her, and she was clinging to him, face buried in his chest, and no matter how many times he tried to remember the moment that led up to this one, he couldn't. And then this one, too, had passed.

He held her cheeks as she drew back, eyes pleading for him to take her away. He nodded that he understood. With a quick glance around, he checked to make sure no one had noticed their embrace. Everyone seemed to be too busy setting up camp, tending the wounded, and gathering the dead.

"Marshal," the captain began, saluting as he came to stand in front of them, "your tent is ready. Shall I inform your council?"

"Not now, Captain," Trahearne replied as calmly as possible, quickly summoning all the willpower he had to remove his hands from her body. "The Commander and I must talk. Many were lost today… Let our people mourn and prepare. At dawn, we shall convene." Before he left, he remembered to say, "Thank you, Captain, for your hard work."

The captain saluted him as he led Rhowaan toward his tent. They disappeared inside and he secured the flaps so that no one would disturb them. With the racket going on outside, they would be afforded some semblance of privacy.

But as they stood there, time seemed to slow down. Everything slowed down, except for how quickly his heart was pounding in his chest. He had never wanted another in this way—never thought it would be a human, of all species. There was companionship and trust, intellectual equality and respect. Where he exercised magic, she exercised her body, and in her he found more than just comfort and peace.

He desired her.

 **III.**

"Rhowaan," he said quietly in that deep voice of his, that voice that soothed her and excited her, that heated her to the core and cause her insides to hum. "Are you all right?"

"I'm…all right," she lied, hearing her own voice quiver. She lifted a shaky hand to her face and wiped at the tears leaking out of her eyes. "I'm fine."

He came closer and her heart fluttered, emotion rippling through her. How would she ever be able to collect herself with him standing so close, reaching out to her, tenderly stroking her cheek with his thumb, catching her tears. She thought of Zott and Elli, wondered if it was even right to collect herself. Would she survive this war? Would he? Would she be crying over his corpse, agonized over the loss of a man she had come to care for, tormented by all of the things unsaid?

"You're all right," he whispered, as if trying to make it true. Perhaps there was another meaning in his words.

"No…"

"You're all right." He lifted her face by the chin, locked his gaze with hers. "Tell me."

"Zott." The name came tumbling out before she could stop herself. "And Elli."

"Yes," he agreed.

"He was gone…in the blink of an eye. He was gone. No time for goodbye. No time for anything… He was just gone. Just like that."

"Yes…"

"So many things unsaid. Why didn't she tell him? Why didn't he tell her?"

"Fear," he answered, "of vulnerability. And the misguided belief…that we have all the time in the world."

"But we don't," she said bitterly. "Not now… Not in this world. In this war. It could all be over…without ever saying," she hesitated, "what needs to be said…"

Rhowaan took a deep breath to steady herself. She was trembling from the inside out, overwhelmed. He was so close, and he was right. She was afraid. She was vulnerable, afraid to show him anymore, afraid to hurt more than she was hurting now. She wanted there to be all the time in the world. She didn't want to think about the alternative—that she might lose him.

"Rhowaan, I'm afraid," he said suddenly, and her thoughts went so still that the world around them seemed to grow quiet. "I'm afraid every day. I send you to Orr, and corpses come home, and I wonder if one day…it will be yours."

"Trahearne?"

"I've lived so much of my life alone, studying and learning far from the world. The man I am now…is because of you. Here I am, surrounded by people, by a cause. And I feel that if I were to lose you, even amongst all of these people…I would be alone again."

Had she heard him right? Her heart was pounding so hard in her ears, maybe she had misunderstood. "Trahearne—"

"I don't want to leave anything unsaid."

Suddenly, he pulled her against him and kissed her. His mouth was aggressive, hungry, invasive. She half-heartedly pushed him away—out of surprise more than anything—but he held her tighter. He gasped between long kisses, fingers digging desperately into her flesh.

There was so much want in his kiss. She could taste the desire on his tongue, feel it pressing into her pelvis, hear it in his groans. There was also need in every little action, as though he might die without this expression. The way he tightened his hold around her—it was as though he feared letting go.

And then her own fear was forsaken, and she clung tightly to him, kissed him back, sought out his lips and tongue and taste.

 **IV.**

Trahearne was overwhelmed, senses overloaded. He was touching her. He was kissing her. He had never felt this way before, as though his body were awakening. To emotions, to growth, to possibilities, to a demand needing to be met, a desire needing satiating.

"Rhowaan," he groaned between kisses. His hands glided along her curves, holding her tightly against him. She was so warm, so unbelievably warm.

He pushed her down onto his cot, knelt over her, admired how beautiful she was. The gravity of the situation finally hit him as he studied her flushed face, her lips parted with surprise and hunger, her eyes radiating fear and excitement. She was exuding vulnerability, lying there beneath his body. This was not the fearless ranger he fought beside. This was not the fierce, determined woman he had come to trust implicitly. This was not even the steady, strong commander that led the Pact. This Rhowaan was entirely in his care, like a child in his arms, waiting to be held or abandoned, to be loved or forsaken.

"Rhowaan…" Her name came again, this time in a whisper of discovery. He understood. If he walked away from her in that moment, she would lie there, lonely and broken. And if he loved her, she would submit entirely to him.

He knew what was going to happen next. He was going to make love to her. He had never made love to a woman before. Sylvari had no natural sexual instinct, no reproductive abilities. He had studied the biological make-up of other species and wielded an intellectual comprehension of the drive to copulate. But as she lay there beneath him, fingers curling into his flesh, he somehow completely and intimately understood that his motivation was to express his deep love for this woman. And to be close to her.

Nothing was to be left unsaid, and his actions would speak volumes. They would speak of his love for her, his need to have her in his life, of how she made him a better man. They would tell her that he could not lose her.

Trahearne pulled her into his arms and kissed her open-mouthed and hungry, unable to restrain himself, to hold back these things he needed to say. And every kiss she returned, her desperate hold on him, her soft sighs, her body that sought his—these things spoke to him in turn.

"Tell me," he whispered against her lips. "Tell me everything."

And though neither of them spoke any words, nothing was left unsaid.


End file.
